Outside, the afternoon sun was bright. I put on my sunglasses and walked toward the black sedan waiting at the curb.
“Airport, Major?” the driver asked.
“Yes,” I said, sliding into the back seat. “I have a flight to catch. Germany.”
A new case was waiting in Stuttgart. A fraud ring targeting young enlisted soldiers.
I was the lead prosecutor.
As the car merged onto the highway, I opened my laptop. The case file was already waiting.
The family courtroom drama was finally over.
The real work—the work that mattered, the work that defined me—was just beginning.
I typed in my password and got to work.
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